Thoughts of a Hero
by Zeta The Sixth
Summary: Just a little something I was thinking about


**Just something I felt like doing.**

**I don't Own Dragon Age**

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**Thoughts Of A Hero**

The crackling of fire.

How once it had been a symbol of friends in a struggle together now served as only an echo of what once had been. "The Hero of Ferelden", they called him. He thought the title rather large and lofty, almost like carrying a disproportionately weighted bolder on his back, but he wore it anyways if only to help remind him of what once had been.

He had heard much through his travels, so much so that he almost felt guilty for not trying to slay another archdemon, but he had his own problems and adventures as did his once close traveling companions.

Leliana now served as a "spymaster" for the chantry, or so he'd heard. He smirked at the thought. When they first traveled she had probably thought that the Chantry and the Orlesian Bard were parts of her life that were two entirely separate entities, how appropriate that they should be as one now.

Sten, his once large, powerful, and silent ally had become the new Arishock, one of their leaders as he understood it, after the old one had been slain by Hawke. He would not have minded to see the warrior once more if only so he may too have a chance at testing their strengths against one another as they used to. And perhaps even attend one of those Quanari "parades" Sten had once mentioned.

Zevran, the cheeky little elf had actually spent time getting to know his mother's people a little better, or so he was told. Even when he had turned the elf down, he could not help but notice the leering eyes and flirtatious innuendos he would slip into his dialogue. He had also heard that he had been on a little escapade against the Crows, "tweaking their noses" as he would say. He smiled at the thought, he felt like doing much of the same after they pilfered his prized sword "Vigilance". He had killed about a dozen of them since their theft, and still had yet to see blade or hilt of that sword, what a pity. He had _really_ liked that sword.

Oghren was still amongst the wardens in Vigil's Keep, as he had heard. After he had left the keep Oghren had taken it upon himself to be the new commander, mostly the commander of ale drinking and drunken brawls but then what else would one expect? He hoped that the drunken dwarf still kept writing to his kid, he may not have been the best writer, countless proofread letters had convinced him of that, but he could still be a father, and maybe even get on friendly terms with his family again.

Speaking of families, he thought back to his brother Fergus, the new Lord of Highover. The man had been greatly saddened by the loss of his family and he would dare not blame him, he still had angry thoughts as Rendon Howe came to mind, which were only calmed when he reminded himself how he enacted his revenge. He hoped his mother, father, and everyone else in the castle that night could rest easier.

And speaking of the Howes, Nathanial had been perhaps one of his biggest surprises. When he first found the thief giving him the stick eye from the other side of the jail cell door, he had contemplated hanging him, but something inside told him that was not to be his fate, and so he had survived the joining. Much to his surprise Nathanial had been a much nobler man then his father, a truth he himself learned. He was now perhaps one of the most powerful grey wardens alive, and he felt honored to call the Howe a friend, especially after he had saved his brother.

Sigrun had often spoken as if she was the walking dead, but he knew better. She simply felt unworthy of herself or others due to her past, which was why she threw herself at death so frequently before. But after some doing he finally managed to convince her not to seek out her calling, even if she did still crack jokes about her own death.

Velanna, what to even say? She was snide, rude and judgmental of all those around her. She found faults in many people, it wasn't until he had shown her how full of faults she herself was that she finally began to open her eyes to the plight of those around her. He had even heard of her single handedly defending a human village from darkspawn. Sadly though that wasn't all he had heard about her, a year or so back she was in the company of Grey Wardens in the Deep Roads when she had said she saw her sister and ran off, no one had seen her since.

Regrets were something that littered his past, was electing Bhelen the right thing to do? Yes the man had become a tyrant, but he had also made things considerably better for the lives of the commoners. Though the Architect was now gone to who knows where was he the reason Coryphous was around? Was he the reason Velanna had vanished? Or that Darkspawn sightings had, little by little, come to a halt until just very recently? He knew not.

His marbari hound was perhaps one of his luckier friends, after the slaying of the archdemon the dogs had to, ahem, _replenish_ the ranks of the war hounds. Lucky dog indeed, he now resided there, watching over another once-friend.

Alistair the king of Ferelden, husband to Anora, son-in-law to now Grey Warden Logain. He had never forgiven him for that, since their parting at Vigil's keep the two rarely saw or heard from one another. He could hardly blame him after denying him the vengeance of Duncan and his half-brother's killer, it had grown to be a rift between the two, and sooner or later it would come to a head. Still, he had nothing but respect for the man, he had grown into a fine ruler and even learned to stick up for himself, attempting to learn as much as he could about the court, making a surprisingly effective pair with the Queen.

He had often wondered if it was a mistake to spare Logain, but the man had proven himself invaluable to the Wardens. Much to the old warrior's surprise the Orlesians had some respect for the man who had shook off their occupation of the county. He had inspired many to take the joining and try to join their ranks.

The Stone golem shale, he knew not where she had gone. She had spoken to him of seeking to become flesh again, and even wanted to have Wynne to help her. But since the break in at White Spire Vault and Wynne's sacrifice and funeral, no one had seen or heard from the golem, and where it now wandered was anyone's guess, perhaps she returned to Cadash Thaig or was off depleting the pigeon population, one or the other.

Anders and Justice, he frowned at the thought. One was a being of freedom and the other an aspect of Justice, together they were unstoppable as they proved when they destroyed the Kirkwall chantry. When he had first met the mage he thought the mage a bit of a rebel but that he could be useful, as he soon found out though the mage was a little more than he bargained for. Still they became friends and Anders even had proven himself a fine Grey Warden.

Justice, what could he say? He being was a spirt from the fade who knew little of humans and even less of their world. Still he had thought the spirit was a powerful ally and even would call him a friend. But after he had heard what Anders had done he had almost been angry enough to drop everything he was doing, to go find him and kill him himself.

But Hawke had been there and had also been his friend for many years, and caught between his newfound disgust of the mage and their long friendship he simply let him go. He wasn't so sure he would have done the same.

Finally with a small smirk, his thoughts landed on Morrigan. She was rude and ruthless and had no problem showing it, she mocked everyone she met at every turn and was just about as soon to help you as hurt you.

And he couldn't have been happier with her if he tried.

What started out as simply manipulation for her eventually turned into something more, much more. He had quickly turned the tables on her as his attraction to her magnetized her to him, and he to her. She was many things wise, manipulative and uncaring. At least that's what she wanted everyone to think of her. In truth? She was scared, scared of losing control to something she could barely understand, this thing called love. Afraid to admit that one night of passion between them had resulted in more than a simple vessel for an Old God. And by admitting that she was bound to something to _someone_ she could neither change nor control, she was admitting how powerless she really was, how much alike she was to everyone else. He mother had been right, she thought she knew better than everyone else, a trait so commonly found it might as well be the earth beneath our feet. When she had run away from him, he had chased after her, and he had found her, forced her to face what she was running away from, that "weakness" she called love. He touched the ring she gave him at that thought and smiled to himself, clutching the letter he had received from the so-called "Herald of Andraste". He really _was _pleased with himself, maybe he could even teach his son to be a noble one day, Fergus could certainly use the company.

He would have liked to help, but he had his own demons to face, for himself and for all Grey Wardens everywhere. He could hear it even now, like a low murmur in the back of his mind compelling him to try and seek out other Darkspawn, to practically throw himself at them.

But no, he wasn't going to let it win, he was going to free himself and all Grey Wardens. And then he would return to his smiling son and his sighing "wife" as he helped to instill an unruliness in the boy as his mother tried to spoil him with discipline.

He took out a quill and a pen, signing at the bottom as he gazed out of his peripherals at the glow of the embers. "Signed Warden-Commander Cousland."

The fire crackled on, the embers sending sparks and thoughts drifting off on the night wind.

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**Just a little something I whipped up while playing Dragon Age.**


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